


Bad Apples

by ImpalaDreams (impaladreams)



Series: Malfoy Mistresses [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathtubs, Drapple (Harry Potter), F/M, Fast Fuck, Food Play, Gang Bang, Paganism, Post-War, Russia, just as a general theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impaladreams/pseuds/ImpalaDreams
Summary: Having left England after the second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy finds himself in Russia, isolated, and full of guilt. However, when he meets a strange woman and is drawn into an autumnal custom, the walls he's carefully crafted begin to crack.





	Bad Apples

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of 6 of the Malfoy Mistresses Series.  
> Russian translations at the end.

There’s an unexpected commotion about the inn that draws Draco’s eyes around the busy hall. The innkeeper takes note as he hands Draco a room key.

“You’re lucky we have room with ‘za festival ‘n all that goin’ on,” he says.

“Festival?” The sullen blonde does not seem happy at the prospect of celebrations.

“Aye, harvest season. We still honor old gods ‘round here,” he explains with a squinty eyed look at the stranger.

“Right. Of course.” Draco replies politely though he has no idea what the man is speaking of. He doesn’t wish to offend and be run out of the only magical village nearby in the unfamiliar land. He’s remains unaware of the Slavic tradition, and thinks little of it until that evening. Eating dinner, alone, he realizes the room has gone silent. He’s not only by himself at the table, but the entire place is abandoned. Curiously, he stands and makes his way to the door where he can hear a crowd gathered outside. His meal forgotten, he watches on the outskirts of the people assembled in the square.

A man addresses the villagers and the words are foreign, but Draco senses it’s some form of introduction as a woman comes to stand by his side. She’s smiling and happy, draped in white linen, and he helps her up onto a table at the center of the circle. Her dark hair is wild and free in the night and as the man continues to talk, she stands proud upon the elevated wood platform.

Draco’s curious, slinking a little closer and watching a young girl make her way through the crowd carrying what appears to be a bushel of fresh, ripe apples. The fruit gleams under the moon and he’s distracted, so when he looks back to the woman, he’s surprised to see her standing naked. Her robes pool at her feet and she wears nothing but a smile as the same moon illuminates her pale skin. He’s fixated, and for a moment, he forgets the surroundings. He doesn’t think of things he’s running from back in England or the answers he’s wandering aimlessly toward. The clouds that stalk him fade under the cover of night, darkness consuming them, and she stands out like a beacon in the blackness. He watches as she stoops, the child at her feet, and reaches forward to select one of the ripened fruits.

She sits back on the table and bites into the apple. Her teeth break the skin with a crunch and a cry rises up among the crowd. The young girl yells something in Russian that pulls a laugh from the older woman, and then runs into the throngs of people distributing harvest apples as she goes. He expects that’s it as someone presses an apple to his hand but the crowd doesn’t disperse. Instead, people move closer, and he watches, locking eyes with the woman for a long moment as she sits back and wipes the juices from her chin. Someone passes her a cup and the eye contact breaks as she drinks, no chugs, the cider down. The excess runs from the corner of her mouth and dribbles down her chin, creating rivulets of sticky cider down her chest. The cup is jostled as the men pull at her free limbs and it splashes down her body, soaking between her thighs which get tugged and spread at the edge of the table.

From his distance, Draco is almost alarmed except that the woman gives another laugh, setting down one cup to take another. It’s clear that the swarming men are aroused and it’s not long before one’s pushed himself between her legs and entered her. She groans, and lays back, and still Draco watches as they take turns, slipping bites of apples and their cocks between her lips. She remains filled as one after another they fuck her, teasing her body with splashes of cider that they rub onto her breasts and between her legs. It’s nearly a barbaric sight apart from the fact that the woman enjoys it. Her moans are muffled by mouthfuls of fruit and cock, but it’s clear she reaches more than one climax. He hearkens back to the words of the innkeeper about paganism and the old gods. He has a better idea now, but still doesn’t grasp the meaning and feels himself backing away from the scene.

It’s only when he’s back in his room on the third floor of the rickety inn that he realizes he’s still holding the damn apple. He sets it on his desk with a scoff. He does not spare it, nor the so called festival, a second thought. If he did, it would only conjure thoughts of his own rottenness and spoiled flesh. Even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t, he has no place taking part in a ceremony based upon fruitful harvests, or whatever nonsense. He’s certain he’s the embodiment of what they’re trying to avoid, the rotten apple of the crop or the bad fruit to spoil the lot. He’s better out of the way, alone, laid on his bed and reading while the revelry continues outside. There’s a silencing charm, and he’s certain also a lock on the door, and he does his best to put the graphic scene from his mind.

Draco’s efforts work for a spell, but no concentration could withstand his door swinging open with a slam. His hand is at his wand at once but he freezes when he sees the naked figure in the doorway.

“You have something for me?”

The woman’s words of broken English hit him with the scent of sweet cider and sour sweat, and she’s looking at him so intently that he has to look away. His eyes catch the apple on the desk, but he ignores it. She walks into the room and the door sweeps closed behind her.

“Like… a bath?” Draco looks back at the woman in time to see her break out into a laugh at the suggestion, although it’s not as full of mirth as her joyous amusement in the night. Now, there’s a tinge of sarcasm to the chuckle. There is a clawfoot tub in the corner of the room and she waves to it, eyes lit with amusement.

“Okay. Make bath.” She shrugs and looks on in amusement as he pushes himself up from the bed.

The stranger is the naked one, but Draco feels exposed rising in just gray pajama bottoms. Fingers still grasp his wand though he’s hesitant to use it. He hasn’t been home in England in many months, but he’s still used to more modern accommodations, like baths with running taps, so he stalls. Her brows raise with impatience, and he’s beyond understanding or even analysis for the bizarre events unfolding so he doesn’t stop to question it. Instead, a wave of his wand fills the tub and he waits for her next move. Anticipation abounds but speculation seems futile while the unexpected reigns. He’s correct, for the last thing he expects is to watch her step gently into the bath. Her skin holds a sticky sheen but it’s washed away as she sinks into the water.

“Is warm.” Her face lights and gone are the traces of acerbity from her voice and smile. She’s beaming until her eyes shut and she submerges herself completely.

When she breaks the surfaces again, Draco heads for the door. “Right, I’ll leave you to it then,” he says, hand at the door.

“Stay. Is your room.”

When he looks back, he sees the easy shrug of her shoulder, but it does little to answer any of his questions. Maybe that’s the reason he stays, retreating a little to stand in the middle of the room. He tries not to stare at her, but his eyes are drawn, whether he wants to look or not. Her hair looks darker wet and it clings to her neck and shoulders as she scrubs her arms clean. She’s older than him, but by how much he can’t precisely tell. He catches himself staring again and looks away.

“S’ok. You can’t help it.” She’s grinning up with wet eyelashes blinking and his brows furrows in response. The eye contact is held for a long moment before she sinks back into the bath with a splash.

Draco’s suspicions rise and he crosses his arms, giving her a wary glare. “What’s your name?”

“Taya. What’s yours?” She doesn’t look at him as she rinses her legs but he’s watching her and the way the water runs over the soft, pale skin. It conjures images of sticky cider dripping down her body and he licks his lips.

“Draco.”

“Draco…” She repeats the name but it sounds different in her heavy accent. Finally, she looks back at him and tilts her head. “Draco, so closed. Door closed, arms closed, mind closed. Only thing not closed is book.”

He scowls, a million more questions rising but he only gives petulant voice to the most pressing. “Why are you here?”

Gone is any amusement from her face and she pushes herself to a standing position in the bath, body drenched and dripping in the room’s dim light. She looks more severe than the woman who stood atop the table all smiles and gaiety before a scene of complete debauchery. He still doesn’t understand it, and perhaps she senses that, or sees it on his face, because she softens somewhat.

“Bad luck not to finish.” She points to the apple on his desk, equal distance from them both, and he drags his attention away from her long enough to look at it in puzzlement. However, she continues before he can ask any more questions. “Offering made, seed spilled, blessings for next year’s crop and celebration of abundance. Only rude, little boys run to room to avoid.”

His gaze falls from the fruit, but he doesn’t look back at Taya. He’s a wash of shame, arms crossed to hide the mark he normally covers and eyes downcast, because he knows he has no business participating in anything meant to bring prosperity and good fortune. His whole existence feels like the antithesis to what she’s trying to accomplish. He’s helped breed evil into this world and done things that should exclude him from any sort of revelry. His participation would only spoil the observation and cultivate the rottenness he feels within. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Taya’s words are fired back so immediately that it catches him off guard and he’s looking at her with eyes as sad as they are lost. “I’m… a bad person, Taya.”

“No such thing.” Her answer is immediate again and he shakes his head. Before another argument is made, she explains. “Last year? You have bad harvest. We do this to make next year better. Before long, years are good, not bad. Life good.”

Perhaps he understands better but there’s still a sad hesitancy that has his eyes shifting away from her once more. They settle on the apple, an orb of shining red skin, and he wants to believe her. However, it’s hard to see the potential for any good when the past many years have been so bad. He’s silent, but it pulls a sigh mixed with sympathy and frustration from the woman.

“Draco. Bring me apple.”

There a compulsion behind the demand and he reaches for the fruit despite his concerted efforts to be difficult. “Here. Now sod off and leave me alone.”

She takes the apple from his grasp but does not leave. Standing before him, she bites down, and the crunch draws his attention. He swallows and she chews. Lips part but no words are spoken. He starts to take a step back, away from her, but doesn’t get the chance. She flies at him, and with the backward movement he falls to the floor with her atop his chest. He groans but it’s muffled when she leans down to press her mouth against his. Her full lips are like fruit, honey crisp and sweet, and he accepts her kiss, swallowing down the taste and sensations. Her naked body is atop him now, grinding her hips against the thin material between them and despite his prior unwillingness, his body responds to the provocation.

Taya breaks from his lips and the grin is back on her face as she reaches down to feel his hardness through the fabric. She slips her hand past the waistband and he lets out an unexpected gasp of surprise and longing. “Best for last, hmm?” she smirks.

There’s a brief scramble as the bottoms are pushed down and she helps to free his erection. Again, no time is wasted and she slides herself down on his cock, taking him all with a mutual groan from them both.

“Blyad,” she curses, grinding her hips at first. She starts to move, a steady rise and fall that has his lips parted and mouth dry, breaths falling faster and harder as she speeds. There’s still a slight look of shock in his eyes, mostly because he can’t believe this is happening. He’s lost track of how long it’s been since he’s been with a woman, and his body gives into its basest needs. Hips roll to meet hers as she bounces atop him, but his movements are limited otherwise with her hands pressed to his chest and pinning him to the floor. He feels the prickly itch from the grain of the wood against his back, but it pales to other sensations coursing through his body. She leans in to kiss him again and she draws out his desire until it’s coiled tightly within him, heavy in his groin and in the press of her hands at his chest. His own hands fumble to find her hips, grasping and pulling as he bucks up into the tight, wet heat that meets him. Whimpers of need are muted against her lips but the slaps of skin echo around the room, faster and faster, until he breaks with a cry. His head thuds back against the floor, angled features tipped toward the ceiling as his shaking body finds release.

“Da, da, ochen khorosho.”

Draco doesn’t understand the words but they envelop him and milk his climax like her walls around his cock, until he’s sucking in the heavy breaths of his first satisfaction in ages. Taya leans forward again and presses her lips to his forehead.

In the morning, Draco’s still picking bits of splinters from his shoulders, and a bare foot kicks the discarded apple across the floor before he tosses it in the bin. His trunk is packed and he’s ready to leave this place and the experience behind him. However, it’s not so easy when he finds Taya right outside the inn door. There’s a cart packed high with apples and the child from the night before sits high and proud in the passenger seat, waving to the woman. Taya sees her off, and then spots Draco when she turns.

“Is gift for my services. For sisters’ villages.” Again, her statements raise more questions but she changes the subject, eyeing his trunk. She’s also dressed in a traveling cloak and she tilts her head in question. “You travel? To Moscow?”

It’s likely a lucky guess seeing as how it’s the only major city anywhere near their rural surroundings, but again it stokes his suspicions. He simply nods a wordless confirmation, but she smiles broadly again. “Same. I go with. Keep you company. Show you best restaurants and clubs. Da?”

His instinct is to decline the offer but there’s a gentle coaxing to her words and so again, he nods. “Yes.” 

**Author's Note:**

> "Blyad" - Fuck  
> "Da, da, ochen khorosho." - Yes, yes, very good.  
> "Da?" - Yes?
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please kudos or comment if you find this series engaging. To be continued with Taya and Draco in Moscow.


End file.
